


Light From the Shadows

by Madelief



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Modern Era, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelief/pseuds/Madelief
Summary: It's 2017 and Major Cullen Rutherford has decided to leave behind his successful, but shadowy career in the army and pursue civilian life. Studying for a Masters in a city no one would have expected him to head to is the perfect way to escape the ghosts of his past. Romance too is the last thing on his agenda, but there's nothing dangerous about a bit of healthy admiration for one particularly stunning tutor...is there?Professor Lea Trevelyan is solely focused on her archaeological research, to the extent that any extracurricular activity is normally given short shrift - especially from a pupil. A no go with all kinds of ethical problems and a line she refuses to cross. She's got places to travel and papers to deliver, and no time for dalliance. So what is it about the ex-Army major that gets so under her skin?It's not just a passion for history they share, so why are they intent on denying one another? Join Cullen and Lea in this slowest of slow burns as ex partners make an appearance or two, Cullen tries hard to get on the road to recovery and Lea begins to unravel her own complex past. Friends from the DA and ME universes also feature too!





	1. Denial

Cullen stretched his legs under the dining table, yawned and looked around with satisfaction at his home for the coming year. It was a typical tall, old-world Dutch townhouse, all low eaves, wooden floors and exposed beams with a modern twist. He looked on with appreciation at the recently updated kitchen and dining room, all decked out in cream tones that suited the 17th century character of the building. At the sound of distant laughter, Cullen’s eyes were drawn to the open sash doors leading to a cozy living room to the bay window beyond. A bevy of blonde children rode past on bicycles followed by their mothers at a leisurely pace. The street then quietened again, Cullen beyond pleased with the location he’d chosen in the ancient university town of Groningen.

All in all, he reflected as he sipped his coffee thoughtfully, it couldn’t have been further from his former life.

_Exactly as planned._

_Well done, Rutherford. Now bloody what?_

For today was the day, the reason he’d chosen to turn his back on the Army. To find a way to prevent the bloodshed and mayhem and human misery he felt partly responsible for over the years. To stop the screaming that still woke him at night in a cold sweat, panting for air and sobbing wasted tears over children’s bodies, broken, bleeding and lifeless clutched in his useless arms.

After the last blast earlier this year, deep behind enemy lines in Syria, he’d had to call it quits. There was only so much a man could take. The pity in the shrink’s eyes as Cullen sat, staring blankly at walls with no answers had sealed his fate.

No one, but no one, would ever look at him as an object of pity. Thanking the shrink politely, he’d taken note of the diagnosis, been honorably discharged from the Army a few weeks later and ended up at his parents’ house for the first time since leaving at eighteen, lost, confused and not entirely sure what to do with himself.

Cullen, however, was not a man to procrastinate. He’d always considered further study and fallen in love with the UK’s smaller neighbor to the east when he’d conducted co-exercises with colleagues in the Royal Netherlands Marine Corps. He had Dutch friends and had holidayed in the ridiculously pretty country. It was, therefore, not a giant leap for him to decide to study here, needing to get away from his previous life but still be close enough to go home to help out if necessary.

‘Groningen it was,’ he murmured to himself, taking one last sip. ‘Far enough away from complications.’

Mercifully there was no time to dwell on said complications, something Cullen was determined to avoid – both old and new. The grandfather clock tolled the hour, Cullen ready to depart for his first day. Placing the mug in the dishwasher, he headed out into the hall to find his bag and trainers. Grimacing at himself in the hall mirror, he pushed back one unruly curl before straightening his white polo shirt and adjusting the belt on his faded, well worn loose jeans. Pulling on his favourite old black trainers, he decided to forgo the hoody given the brilliant late summer sunshine outside. Prepared as ever, he’d already packed his laptop and notebook, slinging his rucksack over one shoulder and firmly closing the cheerful red door behind him.

He narrowly avoided another flock of kids on bikes as he crossed the small road, enjoying his walk to the university. Groningen was an interesting mix of old and new, the ever-present canals dotted with boats, cafes spilling over with a mix of students, parents with young children and retirees all enjoying the last days of summer. It was just the right level of relaxed and industrious, Cullen again marveling at just how different life was now, compared to his years of service. A couple of months out wasn’t nearly enough for him to have adapted, but he was surprised at how much he was relishing his freedom. Albeit sometimes unsure as to how to fill seemingly endless stretches of time. Once he’d worked out, gone for his daily run and prepared food, there seemed to be too many hours in the day to fill.

Studying for his Master’s would give him exactly the sort of structure he needed to transition into a new life.

With a small smile on his lips, he stared up at the imposing old building that housed the main campus. Students, mainly young and eager, were milling in the courtyard, Cullen suddenly feeling incredibly old compared to the youthful optimism on display. A plethora of welcome signs, mainly in Dutch, had him nonplussed for a moment until he remembered the welcome letter he’d stuck hastily in his back pocket. Fishing it out, he squared his shoulders and headed through the throng, trying not to wince at the closeness of some of the crowd, pressing on through the main doors and into a wide foyer.

‘Excuse me,’ he asked quietly to a student bearing a sign he hoped translated as ‘help’, ‘where is room 10.C?’

‘Just one moment,’ she replied cheerfully in excellent English, flipping through a chart. ‘Ah yes. Take the lift to the third floor then it should be on your right.’

‘Thanks,’ Cullen muttered, moving away for another bewildered student to take his place. He found the lifts and the third floor easily enough, feeling unaccountably nervous as he made his way towards the correct room. He’d faced down murderers and rapists, fought against genocide and yet in his civvies he still couldn’t get comfortable in his own skin. Going undercover was one thing, but this was something else entirely.

He wasn’t here to pretend. He was here to be Cullen and he didn’t have a clue who that man actually was.

Giving himself a mental kick up the rear for woolgathering, Cullen grasped hold of the handle and strode resolutely through the door. To his relief the room was quiet compared to the teeming mass of youth outside. The tables had been pushed back and chairs were dotted round the room filled with around twenty occupants. Many were, like him, in their thirties, this specialised course designed for people with backgrounds such as his. A few were younger, marked as rising stars to be channeled into the Foreign Affairs departments of various European governments. He felt his shoulders relax as he nodded to the other occupants, grabbing a lukewarm orange juice and taking a seat near the back of the room.

Scanning his surroundings, he identified at the front a group of three men who he presumed were lecturers. To amuse himself while he waited for the introductions to begin, he decided to observe the people around him. His fellow classmates were predominantly Dutch men and women, through to several Chinese, someone he thought was a Spaniard and possibly a few Americans. It was impossible to say as, aside from a few students talking in Dutch to one another and Mandarin in another group, there was little discussion.

Cullen was trying not to laugh at the conversation in Mandarin – two young men enthusing over some of the latest technology to impress the bored-looking Chinese girl – when the door opened once more. It would be easy to dismiss her as another tall blonde confidently walked in, when the country seemed stuffed full of them, but she……she was different.

_This is….._

_She is not just any woman…_

It had been a very long time since Cullen had been so arrested by a woman upon first sight. He’d indulged in the odd fling, had one serious relationship and was well used to beautiful ladies demanding his attention and favours. Yet it took something special for Cullen to ever warrant taking a second look. The lady who’d just strolled nonchalantly in most certainly fell into that category of spectacular.

She’d tossed her long, thick white-blonde braid over one shoulder as she leant up against a table to speak to her colleagues, pushed her black-rimmed glasses absently up an adorably snub nose and scowled down at the notes in her hand. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a tattoo ran up the inside of her left arm, peeking out from under the shirtsleeve. Black ankle boots and dark blue jeans outlined her long, shapely legs and pert ass, with surprisingly full breasts for such a toned figure pushed up against her fitted white blouse. It was her oval face that held Cullen’s attention, her lightly- tanned alabaster skin with high cheekbones, full dusky-pink lips and brilliant sapphire-blue eyes, sparkling with intelligence and humour behind the glass. She wore little make-up like most Dutch women he’d seen – she didn’t need it.

Whoever she was, she was quite possibly the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

Turning slightly away from her colleagues, her face lit up with an encouraging smile as she cast her gaze over the assembled class. Her glorious eyes widened momentarily with a sensual awareness she’d clearly not been expecting when they fell on him, before she checked herself with a self-depreciating quirk of her lips and an enchanting blush, moving on rapidly to the next person.

_Intelligent, beautiful and has a sense of humour, all in one perfect package. She must be taken…_

_Doesn’t matter. Any romantic entanglements are off limits._

Cullen stirred slightly in his seat and forced himself to not gawp like a teen, noticing that a few of the other men in the room appeared to already be devoted slaves. Fortunately for him, it seemed the introductions were about to start, one of the men at the front of the room moving forward to address the group. Pushing aside his daydreams and getting ready to take notes, he pushed his daydreams to one side.

‘Welcome class of 2017. My name is Thom Ranier and I’m your course leader for this Masters here at Groningen University. We are delighted to see you all here. Joining me are the lead tutors for your courses, who will introduce themselves now.’

Cullen learned that Thom himself was a military historian, Dr Aaron de Jong had a background in post-war Europe and the Middle East, and Professor Maarten Kuipers specialised in EU-US and China relations. They gave their apologies that the Russian expert wasn’t available today, but that Dr Cassandra Pentaghast would be joining them next week once she’d recovered from her recent trip to the Ukraine. He scribbled down a few names of other lecturers they would be encountering over the course of the year, trying to not feel let down that there was nothing outstanding so far that he wanted to focus on. The latter two were middle-aged, solid lecturers with what he was sure was proven experience that would be useful. But so far he was missing the spark of interest he needed to commit himself fully to study.

Of course, as things would go, his ears pricked up at the next introduction, his stupid heart racing just a little bit faster.

‘This year will be the first year we’ll benefit from Professor Leaena Trevelyan’s expertise in Middle East anthropology and archaeology, with a focus on religion and conflict resolution. She is the fourth tutor available for thesis supervision should your study area match her expertise.’

_Leaena Trevelyan? That’s anything but a Dutch name._

_And that’s most definitely not a simple working relationship between those two._

Ranier was another tall, handsome and well-built fellow in his late 30s sporting an impressive beard, Cullen knew the moment he introduced Leaena (as he now thought of her) that something was potentially between the two. He could see it in the slight possessive press of the other man’s hand into the small of her back, the flash of admiration that he couldn’t hide. Although, for her part, Leaena didn’t seem interested in the slightest, sauntering forward easily to address the class.

‘Forget what you see on the news. Forget what you’ve ever been taught in class previously.’ Her clipped, smooth and downright sexy British accent took Cullen by surprise again, given the clear fluency in Dutch he’d noticed earlier. ‘This course will open your eyes, not only to the realities on the ground in some of the most contentious countries today, but you’ll understand _why_ – a factor so often missing from good old Western diplomacy and how the two tie in together. On my course you’ll learn the historical context going back to Mohammed and Jesus’ births, including outside meddling and disaster. You’ll have the chance for some work in the field if you choose more in-depth study. Competition is fierce, however - I only will be taking two Masters students to supervise this year. I look forward to working with you all.’

Her arms folded, Leaena stepped back, her gaze lingering slightly over Cullen once more as if she’d picked up on his alert interest. As Ranier addressed the group once more, Cullen let the words flow over him, his skin prickling with excitement as he cast his thoughts back to Leaena’s words. He was doing his level best to not keep looking at her, given that she’d just handed him the study focus he was looking for. Impatiently, he waited for the class to end, prepared to wait however long he needed in order to get into his new professor’s good books.

Finally, the talks and general introduction came to an end, Cullen joining the queue as he waited to speak with Leaena.

‘No surprise she’s besieged,’ another crisp British voice dryly observed next to him. ‘I wonder if she fends them off herself or she uses her pet guard dog to do the growling for her.’

Cullen looked, taken aback then trying hard not to laugh as he saw what the unidentified voice had already noticed. Leaena had been inundated by most of the men in the group, charmingly deflecting them with ease as Ranier, unable to stand guard over her, kept unhappily looking aside.

‘Name’s Rutherford. Cullen Rutherford.’ He shook hands with the debonair man next to him who, if his senses weren’t mistaken, was not in the least bit interested in their one female professor but quite unashamedly eying up their hapless course leader. ‘As you can tell, I too hail from England.’

‘Ex-army, you’ve got the posture of a poker stick. Not a bad thing, mind you.’ The other man grinned charmingly, Cullen too struck by how obvious he’d been over Leaena to mind the comment. ‘Dorian Pavus. Fellow compatriot although my background is somewhat less, erm, regimented than yours.’

‘Foreign Office?’ Cullen guessed correctly as Dorian nodded his head.

‘Dancing to the tune of some of the best-known mandarins out there. Some are so addicted to sunbeds these days they go positively orange. I should know.’ That Dorian would have some tales to tell was apparent. ‘I’ve been posted to Saudi – that one was awkward – Moscow, Spain, Guatemala, several places. Time to settle down in Whitehall. Before that, thought I’d come here, one last fling and all before Brexit truly throws the cat in amongst the pigeons.’

‘You called it, us simple ex-Army types don’t get caught up in politics. That’s your job,’ Cullen grinned, pleased to have found someone on the course he could get on with. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than playing happy families with some diplomat on the other side.’

‘Ah, you get used to it. Can’t solve all the world’s problems with the sharp end of the gun all the time. Not that you’d know. Constitution and all that.’ A second voice with a gravelly American accent joined the discussion, Cullen looking down to a shorter man sporting a loud Hawaiian shirt and shorts with an abundance of chest hair on display. ‘Varric Tethras, journalist and occasional author at your service.’

The three men introduced each other again and exchanged numbers, Cullen feeling relieved to have at least two of the introductions out of the way. Since returning from war he’d found it challenging to meet people, the veneer of social banalities hard to conjure up after what he’d witnessed. To see him standing here, speaking to random strangers and even making sensible conversation would have his shrink proud.

‘Journalist?’  Cullen enquired. ‘With which paper?’

‘One that doesn’t buy in to alternative facts. Washington Post. Gotta thank Kellyanne for coming up with such an amazing catchphrase for all this bullshit flying around. Saves swearing at the ladies, you know?’ Varric shrugged, American politics currently even more convoluted than back home. ‘I specialize in war reporting. Or peacebuilding as they like to call it. So I thought I’d find out a bit more, educate myself. Took some special leave and here I am, getting cultured, having a holiday.’

‘Right.' The professor’s horde of admirers had finally dwindled. 'I’m going to say goodbye but if you fellows fancy a beer just send me a message later.’

Cullen excused himself from their small group, going to stand patiently as he waited for Leaena to see off an earnest young man, her eyes rolling slightly as she bent down to look at her notes. Closer up, Cullen was left almost as fumbling as the boy before him, blown away by just how flawless she was. Tiny imperfections such as her bottom lip ever so slightly shorter than the top and giving a glimpse of pearly white teeth, through to the dash of palest freckles across the bridge of her nose, merely added to the overall impact. She’d taken her glasses off and left them resting on her laptop, Cullen having to prevent himself taking a step backward as his eyes met the full force of brilliant sapphire blue once more. Time was suspended for a second as she too stared back, swallowing slightly and clearly just as unprepared to be similarly affected.

With a shake of her head and shoving her glasses firmly back on the bridge of her nose, Leaena took control of the situation as she stuck out her hand in greeting. The cool touch of her smooth skin sent a jolt of electricity through Cullen’s body, goosebumps developing across his arms. Ignoring the glaring fact that he’d never in his life been so affected by a woman before, he somehow managed to shake her hand and nod his head in return.

_Managed to be a normal bloke._

_Come the fuck on, Rutherford, mooning like you’re 15?_

‘Hi, Professor Trevelyan? I’m Cullen Rutherford,’ he managed to growl out, clearing his throat slightly to sort out the ridiculous pitch. ‘I served extensively in the Middle East during my time in the Army and I am fluent in Arabic. I was intrigued to hear that your course offers a deeper understanding into the historical context and I would be interested for you to supervise my Masters.’

‘Lea, please. We don’t stand on formality here in The Netherlands.’ Cullen couldn’t think of her as anything but Leaena, but that was a problem for another time. ‘So you’re the one. I read your background with great interest, Major Rutherford. You were far more than just a humble soldier weren’t you? I believe you also speak fluent Mandarin, French and German and led your platoon from certain disaster into a much-needed victory for your battalion in Helmand.’

‘Just doing my duty.’ For the first time in years, Cullen felt his neck turn red at the unexpected praise, only just biting back the ‘ma’am’. ‘They give gongs for anything these days.’

‘Is that so?’ Lea’s soft tone and the raise of an eyebrow suggested she hadn’t fallen for his modesty routine, although to his relief she said no more on the subject. ‘Tutors agree thesis titles after week four, allowing you students to settle in and have a chance to decide on your specialism. Why don’t we make an appointment to discuss the potential, say in a couple of weeks? Here’s some further literature that wasn’t included in your welcome packs – it’s hot off the press research so I wanted to ensure you all received something current. Forgive me the delay.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Cullen replied automatically, smiling at how clearly passionate she was about her subject. ‘I look forward to reading it. I’ll drop you an email once I’m done and we can schedule a time then?’

‘Perfect.’ Leaena beamed, absently pushing back strands of hair from her face as she watched him with an interest she was doing her best to hide. ‘Enjoy the rest of your first day and I’ll look for your email.’

‘Great, thanks. Have a good day too.’

With great reluctance, Cullen walked off, stuffing his notes into his backpack. It was with relief that he escaped the building and walked back out on the streets in the blazing sunshine, sending a message back to Varric that he’d meet him and Dorian later on for beers in town. He couldn’t be bothered with the tour of the campus and was on autopilot, unable to get the most pleasurable thoughts of his professor out of his head. Making it home, he realised that he hadn’t once felt anxious or had a pang of panic whilst out.

Leaena Trevelyan, it seemed, was good for him.

‘Well, no harm in admiring a clever and beautiful woman,’ Cullen shrugged as he prepared himself for his exercise routine. ‘It’s not going to go anywhere after all.’

Feeling more up-beat than he had in years, Cullen set off for a long, hard run.


	2. Rejection

_What on earth just happened there!_

_Or, more precisely, who?_

Lea was absently scribbling notes on this year’s roster, one name jumping out continually from the page.

‘Cullen Stanton Rutherford,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘The name suits him. Such a pity.’

‘What’s a pity? And do you want to have dinner later?’

She was rudely interrupted from her pleasant what-might-have-beens by Thom’s interruption. Lea had thought herself the only one left in the lecture room, the rest of their new class and the tutors having long gone. It wasn’t like her to so completely lose herself, but meeting the ex Major only a few minutes ago had captured her interest more than she cared to admit.

‘That I only have time to take on two students this year and no thank you, I am already seeing friends later,’ Lea lied, having no intention of divulging her innermost thoughts. ‘I’d say this is our strongest and most diverse group yet.’

If he’d just shave once in a while Lea was certain that there was a very handsome man underneath all that beard. Thom Ranier was kind, thoughtful, extremely intelligent, with piercing blue eyes and a hard muscular body that many of her colleagues had been heard sighing over on multiple occasions. Since he’d joined their department twelve months ago, they’d become friends, Lea respecting the quiet Englishman with who she had plenty in common with.

Thom’s patient attention to her was something Lea had to deal with on a daily basis. Her rule of never mixing business with pleasure had stood her in good stead, even when things had come a little too close for comfort one night after celebrating the latest research rankings. Lea was left miserably wondering why she was unable to feel much more for the opposite sex than indulging in the odd fling. Serious relationships were not part of her agenda – she’d never had the time nor patience.  She wished she could feel more for Thom, who had never once stepped across that invisible line much though he fancied himself in love with her.

And now? All she wanted to do was dwell on a beautiful blonde man who, in the space of an hour, had affected her more than anyone else, ever. And a student to boot, so strictly off limits.

_Always what’s forbidden, hey Lea?_

_Why is nothing ever straightforward?_

With a big smile to Thom, who looked momentarily dazzled, she did her best to banish Major Rutherford from her thoughts. Perhaps she should go on a date with such a worthy man like Thom instead.

_Just to prove I’m normal and can date dammit!_

‘It should be an interesting year, and a couple of famous students too,’ Thom agreed distractedly, refusing to show any jealousy over the attention Lea attracted wherever she went. ‘A decorated Army major and one of America’s most well-known journalists. We’d better be on our toes.’

‘We always are,’ Lea quipped, grabbing her files and deciding to end that particular line of discussion. ‘Ready for anything. The world is a fast-moving place and if academia doesn’t keep up then we’ll get left far behind.’

‘Why is it always about the ratings with you,’ Thom teased lightly as they both walked out of the classroom.

‘Rankings means money means more freedom to work on the projects that matter. You know that as well as I do.’ Lea knew she was the best in her field in Europe. She wanted to be the best in the world. ‘Speaking of which, I need to go and finalise the info from the dig site in Jordan. I have a call with them later today.’

Not waiting for a response, Lea sped off down the corridor to her office, saying a quiet prayer of thanks that she was in a different department and not subject to Thom’s management. The weird should they/shouldn’t they date had been hanging around so often she was used to it. There had been no man in her life for so long anyway. She wasn’t about to start going out with anyone based on pity.

‘Especially not for myself – oh! When did you get back!’

‘Talking to yourself is a first sign of madness, or so I am always assured.’ The throaty Slavic drawl of amusement from the back of Lea’s office made her jump in surprise.

‘You made it back in one piece then,’ Lea replied, dropping her notes onto an already-overflowing desk. ‘I do wish, Dr Pentaghast, that you would desist from travelling to such dangerous places. The Crimean border is not a tourist destination….oh don’t tell me you crossed over!’

‘Sevastopol. What a cesspit it’s become.’ A disgusted noise emulated from Dr Cassandra Pentaghast’s upturned nose. ‘The border crossing was not so difficult, not if you know people who can get you in and out. How else do you suppose I manage to gather such challenging data, dear Professor?’

‘I don’t want to know,’ Lea groaned, sinking her head into her hands. ‘The university can’t afford the scandal but I know you know that. I’ll just shut up and be grateful for the extra edge that gives us compared to the others.’

‘There’s not much point in being from one of the wealthiest and most prominent families in the region if I can’t call a few favours in here and there. Besides,’ Cassandra finished with a crooked smile, ‘it’s all about discovering the truth and sharing intelligence. If I do that, then I have done my duty to my country. Russia, for better or worse, retains an iron grip in the area. But let’s save the political debate for wine. How did it go earlier?’

Lea paused before responding, sinking into her comfortable seat. There was always a shortage of chairs in the building so Lea had simply bought her own in – an old, worn-in black leather desk chair that her father had used in his study for decades. She’d had to plead with him, but it had been worth it. Just like the Princess Fiona mug her twin had bought her one year as a joke, no one could steal her chair or her mug because they were so identifiable.

Being a professor had its own perks too, such as her own tiny office space, covered in charts and technical illustrations from dig sites across Palestine, Israel and Jordan to the UK and Ireland. A variety of files on her current research interests were the most organised feature in her office. Notes, books, papers – everything else was haphazardly stacked on shelves and around her desk in an order only Lea herself could identify.

Still, looking round her office wasn’t going to put Cassandra off for long. Usually Lea was ready to discuss each new student and gossip with Cassandra, her closest friend, but she’d paused for a fatal moment too long.

‘Who is it?’ Cassandra’s eyes narrowed speculatively, a slow grin spreading at Lea’s unaccustomed blush. ‘I have never seen you react this way, Lea! What, or who, has grabbed your attention so much so that you’re left speechless!’

‘I’m not speechless!’ Lea protested a trifle too loudly. ‘I – have you seen this semester’s intake?’

‘I did cast my eye over them to see if there were some names I recognised.’ Cassandra snorted with derision as she cast her eyes over the list again. ‘That’s the one. Varric Tethras. Some two-bit author who wouldn’t understand Eastern Europe if it hit him in the face. There’s that man who says he’s from some intelligence agency but I wouldn’t put it past him to be an independent operator….’

‘Solas. Welsh. My jury is out on him, but we’ll have to see. He was accepted onto the course so we treat him like any other.’

‘He appeared out of nowhere and suddenly he’s here? We have some of the top intelligence staffers on this course, Lea.’ Cassandra frowned, always worried about the consequences. ‘If he breaches our security…’

‘He won’t and the decision came from far higher up than Thom or Josephine.’ Josephine Montilyet was the Dean of the School, and another friend of Lea’s and Cassandra’s. ‘Have faith, it will be alright. Who else was there…’

_So far so good. No mention of…._

_Dammit._

‘Cullen Rutherford. He’s famous you know, a hero back home in….why Lea,’ Cassandra’s eyes widened as her telltale flush deepened. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you react to the mere mention of a man’s name in such an _interesting_ fashion. I take it reports of the dashingly handsome ex Major were not as overrated as I’d assumed. Do tell.’

‘Tell what?’ Lea replied irritably, flicking her braid over her shoulder and clutching hold of her notes even tighter. ‘We met, he wants to focus his thesis on my area of expertise, I have an appointment with him two weeks today. End. Nothing to it.’

‘If that’s all, then why do you appear to have been hit by a truck? You have to understand, my friend, that to see you react this way to a man is something we’ve all been watching for since, well since we met you. But I can take a hint.’ Cassandra pushed herself off the wall, strolling to the door. ‘We’ll dissect this at a later date, once I’ve met this man for myself so I can judge. Let’s meet for a coffee tomorrow and then you can tell me more. He’s in my class first thing.’

Lea waved off her friend, unable to say much to put off her friend from digging up the truth. With a sigh, she tossed her glasses on the desk and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and swaying gently as the impact of the afternoon finally sunk in.

Cullen Rutherford. She’d felt him watching her the moment she’d walked into the room. She was used to men fawning or gawping, but this had been different, a tingling on the back of her neck all the way down her spine before she’d even glanced across to see who had captured her senses so. Once she’d plucked up the courage to look across, grateful to have the shield of her glasses, she’d found it almost impossible to tear her eyes away.

Broad-shouldered, blonde curls clearly tamed and pushed back, with lightly tanned skin and well muscled in all the right places, Cullen had crooked scar over his right lip that hinted at the dangerous life this man had lived for so many years. As her eyes crept upwards, over the hard edge of a jaw with just the hint of stubble, defined cheekbones and a nose that had been broken at least once, she finally allowed herself to look properly into his eyes. She was greeted to a vulnerability caused by his own, unexpected reaction to her, molten amber irises radiating intelligence, humour but a man who intrinsically held back, always on the alert for trouble. His face told a story, of a man who had witnessed harsh conditions and done the unspeakable to ensure others could survive. He was a soul fractured within a picture-perfect face, seeking some kind of answers or redemption but with no idea where to start.

To have felt that impact in one short second left Lea shaken to the core. It was only through years of dedicated professionalism that she’d managed to survive the next half an hour, forcing herself to not look in his direction and letting others take the lead where she might have normally spoken to the new class more. As it was, when she’d seen the tall, well-built figure patiently waiting in the background to speak to her, it was all she could do to not turn tail and flee. Instead, she allowed herself the luxury of speaking to a man who was at least a good head taller than she was, trying not to lick her lips as her gaze skittered over his well-defined arms and toned legs, hoping she didn’t linger over a stomach that she was convinced had a six-pack concealed beneath the white polo shirt. As for looking at his ass as he left? Lea didn’t dare put herself through more torment than she’d already exposed herself to.

No, this was one attraction that could go nowhere.

‘But there’s no harm in admiring,’ she whispered to herself, flinging what she needed in her satchel as she prepared to go home. ‘I never get a chance to do even that much most of the time.’

Quickly escaping her office and locking the door, Lea practically ran to where her bike was parked, thanking all the gods that she didn’t have to fight through thousands of cycles to locate her own. Within minutes she was on the road and cycling through the centre of Groningen, letting her hair loose around her face as she pushed her sunglasses on against the bright sun. As she passed a well-known bar, she noticed some of her current students gathering, meeting up in a popular spot. About to lift her hand and wave, she clutched the handlebars and nearly crashed into a cyclist behind her when she saw Cullen carrying out a tray of beers. Desperate to not be seen, she peddled faster, never so keen than at that moment to get behind the closed doors and safety of her apartment.

Fortunately they didn’t seem to have noticed her, Lea winding her way around the canals until she reached a stylish apartment complex right in the centre of town. Her friends always teased her that, for an archaeologist, she had chosen such an aggressively modern home. Lea didn’t care. It was her bastion from the outside world, a safe place from the carnage she often experienced in her work. She needed a part of her to be different, a piece of her own identity shaped in the space she lived in.

Lea had seen some of the most beautiful sites a world had to offer a person, and some of the most brutal images humanity could bring to bear. She’d started life as a forensic archaeologist, working on UN projects to identify atrocities during the Serb-Croat war. She’d visited what was now Croatia, scenes of horrific genocide in the name of ethnic cleansing, determined in her zeal as a young, fiery academic to do her bit to bring justice and resolution to the war-torn region. It had, of course, left its mark, Lea then compelled to take her work further afield, to understand the ideologies and historical context of what drove conflict and the underlying historical and archaeological record behind it. She was ever an idealist, willing to take on projects that others decided too risky. She’d faced armed groups and religious insurgents, been chanted down as an infidel and threatened to be raped. Lea had survived them all, undaunted. She’d also met some of the most amazing, inspirational people on her journey through what was the birthplace of modern religion, fascinated by the heritage that drove people to such extremes of behaviour.

As such, she needed to feel as if she was in a fortress when she was at home, right down to where her bike was secured in the basement, her car safely locked in the garage which no one could penetrate. The lift only functioned with her card key pressed against it, whizzing her up to the top floor of the 15-storey building where she had her apartment. Undoing the multitude of locks and stepping into her cool oasis of white and wood, Lea breathed a sigh of relief at last. The sensations conjured up by Major Rutherford’s abrupt appearance in her life had thrown her off balance, Lea padding through the minimalist kitchen to pour herself a much needed glass of white wine.  

It was of no matter. She was home now, in her impenetrable fortress where no thought or person could interfere. Few were allowed into her inner sanctum and when they did, they were always surprised to not see some sort of Near Eastern shrine. No, Lea preferred her life uncluttered with personal effects. Only her study at home showed signs of life, stuffed to the brim with research as her work office.

Lea climbed the steps and opened another raft of locks to reach her roof terrace – a suntrap with a commanding view of the city and countryside beyond it. Groningen was not that large, after all. With a small hum of contentment, Lea settled into an armchair, content to stare mindlessly out over the rooftops and absorb this latest development in her life.

She’d had one serious-ish relationship that had ended abruptly the moment she’d found out Marco, her ex, had cheated on her. It had been on the road to nowhere, anyway and had been borne out of a youthful folly on her part. She’d since become allergic to tall, blonde Dutchmen, regardless of how sincere they might have been, or how good looking. Lea was taking no chances with her heart, especially not when she was so close to achieving some major professional goals of her own. There had been no time in her pursuit of academic excellence, and no man could compare to the richness of archaeology that was on offer to capture her imagination.

Sipping on her wine as she watched the sun lower, Lea tried to recapture the frisson of excitement as she considered her latest research, a disputed site in Syria that she and many others were in a battle to save from the insurgents intent on destroying every symbol of civilization in sight.

Her frisson, however, eluded her.

‘Fuck it,’ she swore softly to herself, letting her head fall back in resigned frustration. ‘How is one man so constantly on my mind, and I’ve only just met him?’

Basic instinct warred with self preservation. Cullen Rutherford was a student and off limits. Cullen Rutherford was one hell of a sexy package, with a husky deep voice to match those eyes of his. And a brain to boot – no one got on their course unless they were at the very top of their academic game.

Lea allowed herself, for the first time in a very long time, to enjoy the frisson of desire and sexual awareness that the man ignited in her. Just for a moment, she shivered in delicious anticipation at the prospect of a man who, might finally, have been her match. Of all that might be, if they indulged themselves in the mutual attraction – there was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her just as badly.

And just as abruptly, Lea slammed her emotions to a halt. He was off limits and she had more than enough to deal with than ethical issues simply because she fancied herself a convenient man for a quick lay. Neither was her style.

‘As I said, such a pity. Well, we’ll never know.’

Lea tossed back the rest of her wine and headed back inside. There was her call right now, then a research paper she owed to a publication and numerous assignments to mark. That was her life and to step outside of her box would only be inviting trouble she didn’t need. With overdetermined zeal, Lea set about obliterating from her mind all wayward thoughts of the handsome Major.


End file.
